Mid-Century Fetish: Ocean’s 11

Previously, we covered why Frank Sinatra is the Godfather of Mid-Century Modern, and now we check in on him in 1960 and see that he continued to personify the MCM lifestyle some 13 years after moving into Twin Palms.

Ocean’s 11 released in August 1960, but began 2 weeks of filming on January 11, 1960.  According to the exhaustively detailed commentary by Frank Sinatra, Jr. on the DVD re-issue, we learn that the vast majority of the movie was filmed on location in Vegas and inside the 5 casinos that were “being robbed.”   This makes Ocean’s 11 a valuable snapshot of what Las Vegas once looked like, a celluloid form of historical preservation for a town that has no use for such things.

Most of the movie’s action takes place in or around Las Vegas casinos, so there are only a small handful of Hollywood stage sets, like the one above.  For the sake of brevity, I left out screen grabs that were solely dedicated to the lighting that was chosen for residential sets.  Actually, for mid-century modern lighting and chair enthusiasts, this movie is highly recommended.

Coral orange and salmon pink are the popular accent color of the movie.  Another popular accessory in the movie is cigarettes; both the Rat Pack and Mad Men had a 3-pack a day habit, I swear!

Her Royal Highness, Miss Angie Dickinson (shown seated, above) also contributes to the DVD commentary, and when it comes to her first scene with Dean Martin, and they both get ready to light up, Angie says, “I can’t believe they’re going to pull out cigarettes!  To see myself smoking in movies is shocking.  It seems so wrong, but as everyone knows, in the 40s, 50s, 60, everybody smoked.  Back then, nobody hesitated – drinking and smoking and living it up.”

Sinatra’s character Danny Ocean masterminds a plot to rip off 5 casinos at one time on New Year’s Eve, and brings together his 10 best men to pull it off.  They gather at this stunning mid-century home.

Like most of the movie, it is an actual location rather than a set, in this case, it’s a home in Beverly Hills that was then owned by Hollywood theatrical agent Kurt Frings.  According to Sinatra, Jr., Frings’ was surprised they wanted to use it for the film, but was more than happy to let them do so.  This tidbit proves a conscious decision on someone’s part – maybe Sinatra? – as to what style of house these thoroughly modern rapscallions should gather in.

The downstairs rumpus room in the Frings’ house covers just about every decorating trend of the late 1950s, including Tiki, Asian and African.  There’s quite a bit of furniture (I lost track trying to count all the different types of chairs) and knick-knacks in this large room, yet it doesn’t look busy or fussy.  This is one of the hallmarks of mid-century modern residential design:  how to have a lot of stuff without looking like you do!

From the film we see the entrance to the original Flamingo Hotel, which was built in 1946 by gangster Bugsy Siegel.  By 1967, new owners began remodeling, renovating and removing, and by 1994 all pieces of the original hotel were demolished.  Only the name survives from the old days, but Ocean’s 11 preserves some important aspects of the place…

…like the multiple showrooms in each of the hotels. Sinatra, Jr. was most impassioned when discussing how the casinos used to operate, “when they were owned by individuals, not corporations.”  He explained that these intimate music lounges existed to “feed live music into the casino,” and give gamblers a place to eat and revive themselves for some more gambling.

Each music lounge (like the Flamingo Room, above) took great care to book quality music and comedy acts, regarding them as being as big a draw as the gambling.  Music or gambling, either way, they’d get your money.

The reason the production got the actual hotels as sets in the movie was because the Rat Pack was actually performing in the Copa Room at the Sands for the 1959-60 holiday season.  Once their shows were done for the night, filming began at 2:15 a.m. and they shot until it became too light.   The production made a deal with the participating 5 casinos to leave up their regular Christmas decorations for a couple of weeks longer so it could play into the New Year’s Eve plot line.

And here is the legendary Sands Hotel.  It opened in 1952, was the zenith of Vegas entertainment by the time of Ocean’s 11, and closed in 1996, followed by an infamous implosion a few months later.  Unlike some of the other lost hotels, the Sands named died with it.

Here’s a diner from the original Sands casino, and a distinction must be made about the building types.  As Sinatra, Jr. points out in the DVD commentary, the casino, showrooms and lounges were in a separate building from the hotel, and the hotels were no higher than 3-stories tall and situated behind the main building.

Right next door to the Sands was the Desert Inn (and both places would be owned by Howard Huges by the mid-60s), which operated from 1950 to 2000. And like the Sands, once it was demolished, the name went with it.

By the mid-1960s, the city of Las Vegas made a concerted effort to draw in more people by building a convention center, and more people required more rooms.  This is the time period when high-rise hotels were erected, and so required massive renovations to the existing casino hotels.

This is the gambling room of the Desert Inn as it was in January 1960. While not posh, it’s certainly more civilized than the lights-flashing-sirens-honking casinos we have now.

The Riviera (shown above), which opened in 1955, foreshadowed the super hotel concept by being the first high-rise hotel erected on The Strip, and it remains to this day in the same location with the same name.  But the building shown here is long gone.

The new corporate owners that took over in the late 1960s figured – according to Sinatra, Jr. – “that people should only have to walk as far as the elevator to spend their money,” which is when the concept of separate buildings was jettisoned in favor of a a gargantuan hotel that could allow you to never set foot outside of it.

The Sahara Hotel is the only other of the Ocean’s 11 5 that remain in the same place with the same name, but by 1963 they had begun serious renovations to the 1952 structure.  By the late 1970s, Vegas switched over to the “mega-resort” concept, which was a way to make Vegas family-friendly which meant more money from different types of people flowing in.  From the DVD commentary, both Sinatra, Jr. and Miss Dickinson are emphatic that luring kids to Vegas was the death knell for a once-great city, with Dickinson lamenting the disappearance of the last safe place for adults to be adults.

Here’s footage from the film of Dean Martin performing in the Congo Lounge of the Sahara.  Sinatra, Jr. was also very detailed about the death of quality entertainment in Vegas, explaining that the number of private lounges were reduced by new corporate owners who felt they were wasting their money with duplications of musicians throughout a casino.  The disappearance of the small music lounges that were free-of-charge to gamblers did not seem to affect the flow of people coming through the doors, so the rest of the lounges were torn out, replaced by grand concert halls with high-dollar tickets that could lure in even the non-gamblers.

After the robberies are completed, there are a few stage set scenes, with this office interior being one of them. I love the masculine drama of this room.

But for the most part, 1960 Las Vegas is the star of Ocean’s 11, with cameo appearances by the Rat Pack and friends.  And Vegas has always been about flash and money, so has constantly been changing to keep up with the cash, so any type of serious preservation of the Vega Strip was laughed off the street decades ago.  Though there is The Neon Museum, the graveyard for so many of the wonderful neon sings that are the landscape of Vegas.  They even turned the LaConcha Motel (which I covered in 2005) into their visitor’s center!

But for the most part, photographs and memories are the historical preservation of Las Vegas, and the Rat Pack era is the one that seems to ignite the romantic imagination the most.  Luckily, Frank Sinatra – the Godfather of Mid-Century Modern – left behind the most potent and complete snapshot of a time and a town.

RELATED
La Concha Motel, Las Vegas
Frank Sinatra: Mid-Century Modern Godfather

.

Connecting the Mad Men Dots

In a previous post, I made a set design connection between the movie The Best of Everything and the TV series Mad Men.  I even wrote:“I’d make a bet that (Mad Men creator) Matthew Weiner has seen this movie even more times than I have, if only for set design research purposes.”

From the photo above, turns out he’d not only seen the movie, but he and his writing staff used the book as research, and then inserted into an episode in Season 2.

Betty Draper walks into the bedroom, where Don is reading a paperback copy of Rona Jaffee’s The Best of Everything.
DON This is fascinating.
BETTY It’s better than the Hollywood  version.
DON It’s certainly dirtier.
BETTY Joan Crawford is not what she was.  You know, honestly, I found her eyebrows completely unnerving. Like a couple of caterpillars pasted there.  Her standing next to Suzy Parker as if they were the same species.
DON Well, some men like eyebrows, and all men like Joan Crawford.  Salvatore couldn’t stop talking about her.

Trash talking Miss Crawford?  Another reason why I dislike Betty, and this moves to #1 on the list.  At least Don told her what for!

RELATED
Mid-Century Fetish: The Best Of Everything

.

Frank Sinatra: Mid-Century Modern Godfather

One of the most iconic images of residential mid-century modernism was made possible by Frank Sinatra.  Though he only lived in it for 10 years, the home is forever associated with him, and still inspires retro fantasies.

As cover art for a CD EP we did earlier this year, I chose the shot above because it combined two things I love: Julius Shulman and Ole’ Blue Eyes.  Now, both of my 70-something parents didn’t care much for the music within, but when they saw the CD cover they both immediately identified it as Frank’s place.  How’s that for architectural staying power?

The place is known as Twin Palms, and is now for rent as a Palm Springs party palace or the ultimate background for a photo shoot.  The official website has all the details, plus a great history of the home, which hipped me to something I did not know: Sinatra’s place was used as a location for the Joan Crawford film The Damned Don’t Cry.

I’ll take every opportunity to wallow in Miss Crawford melodrama, but for those of you too busy or too butch to go there, the scenes featuring Sinatra’s pad are screen-capped here.

The story of how Frank Sinatra got this home is fairly well-known: upon deciding he wanted a permanent residence in the then-sleepy desert town of Palm Springs, Frank walked into the office of E. Stewart Williams and simply said, “I want a house.”  Sinatra was thinking traditional columns and bricks, but for his first residential commission, Williams went with modern design.

Shortly before he died, Williams talked about presenting the drawings of the home in the film about Julius Shulman, Visual Acoustics.  Williams remembered that Sinatra was surprisingly open to such a radical departure from what he’d asked for, and the meeting was very brief because Sinatra had only one criteria to make his decision: Can you have it done by Christmas?

Even though it was the Summer of 1947, Williams said “yes” to the seemingly impossible: design and build a house to completion in less than 5 months.  Incredibly, they missed the deadline by only a week; Sinatra didn’t do Christmas but was able to throw a New Year’s Eve Party.

According to the Twin Palms website, Sinatra repaid a favor he owed by letting the production of The Damned Don’t Cry film at his home in 1950.  But they were only allowed to film outside, so any scenes that take place within the interior of the home are Hollywood creations that have nothing to do with what the interior of the actual house looked like.

We tend to see still pictures of the home shot from the same angles, so it’s a real treat to see it in this movie from different angles and functioning as someone’s home, rather than the icon it was rapidly becoming.

In the film, Twin Palms portrays the home of gangster Nick Prenta, who is in trouble with the New York Mob Boss.  Miss Crawford is the mistress of said Boss, and is sent by him to spy on Nick.  But because Nick is such a virile Italian stud (who is so secure in his manhood that he rocks op-art swim trunks), Crawford naturally falls in love with him (and his house!) and can’t bring herself to rat him out because that equals death.   (Spoiler Alert) Of course, Nick gets whacked, but the violence happens in Crawford’s apartment, so Twin Palm’s had no blood on its hands, real or reel.

We’re not even going to comment on the irony of Sinatra’s house “belonging” to a gangster while he himself dodged Mob rumors for most of his career.  Instead, let’s marvel at these rare glimpses of the home in its infancy, and appreciate the people who have restored the place within the past 12 years.

And the place did need extensive restoration; Sinatra only lived in the house from 1947 – 1957, which left many new residents to muss its essence. By 1997, it was being sold as a tear down.  Scroll down 3/4 on this link to learn more.  Now it’s available to any of us with lots of disposable cash to live out Frank & Ava fantasies for a weekend, a wonderful gift suggestion to add to your Christmas wish list!

Mid-Century Fetish: The Best Of Everything

The Best of Everything is a rich chocolate sundae of Hollywood melodrama and mid-century modern design, with Miss Joan Crawford as the cherry on top.

Filmed and released in 1959, the movie is based on the 1958 novel of the same name by Rona Jaffe.  The book is a really great read because it’s far more than a soap tale of 3 girls coming to New York City to find love and good fortune; it is a realistic snapshot of how post-WW2 cultural and corporate standards demanded the creation of Women’s Liberation.

The dramatic and/or tragic stories of the girls’ journeys through sex and career were obvious bait for Hollywood, who added spoonfuls of glamor sugar to make the medicine go down, and this lesson was clearly understood and aped by both Cosmopolitan magazine and, later, Mad Men.   I’d make a bet that Matthew Weiner has seen this movie even more times than I have, if only for set design research purposes.

Along with Hope Lange, Barbara Lamont and Suzy Parker (above center), the Lever House should have been billed as a co-star, because it actually appears on screen as often as Joan Crawford.  It appears so much because it’s caddy corner on Park Avenue to the building where our heroines work…

… the Seagram Building.  So within the first 15 minutes of the film, you know you’re in for a rich and gooey mid-century modern treat.

The main character, Caroline Bender, comes to her first day of work as a typist and secretary at Fabian Publishing Company.   She arrives early to absorb the place, and the camera pans over this Mondrian-like office set.  The film’s art direction is primarily by Lyle R. Wheeler, who had already worked similar magic on films like The Long Hot Summer, Peyton Place, Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter? and Bus Stop.  For the Fabian Publishing set, he used door colors to signify which level each inhabitant occupied on the corporate totem pole and adhered to tight grids in the typing pool to symbolize the rigid class distinctions between executives and the female typing pool.  If – without seeing the move – this set looks familiar to you, it may indicate that you…

…watch Mad Men. During the first few episodes of the first season, I was vaguely disappoint in how refined the sets were, until I realized that I was instinctively comparing their sets to The Best of Everything.  The people responsible for the Mad Men sets have essentially created the accurate, real-world version of of Hollywood’s glossy interpretation of late 50s/early 60s corporate world.

Caroline Bender  (above) has ambitions to become an editor but first assigned secretary duties to editor Miss Amanda Farrow (Miss Crawford, below right).

The Mad Men character Peggy Olson is a perfect compilation of these two characters.  Peggy “before” is Caroline, all freshly scrubbed from a small town looking to make it in the Big City, and her quick learning curve and natural talent moves her quickly up the ladder.  If you’d like a sneak peak at Peggy “after,” see this movie and keep an eye on the Amanda character.  And look at those chairs!

This is the office of Fabian editor-in-chief Fred Shalimar, and dig the wall of built-in book shelves holding the paperbacks he’s overseen.  As in Mad Men, actual work takes a backseat to drinking, smoking and carousing, so the office needs to be comfy and stylish.

Hollywood depicted the bustling employee cafeteria inside the Seagram building as a mod fantasy of vivid aqua, yellow and purple, which stood in stark contrast to the marble and glass lobby that couldn’t be glossed into submission.

When the action leaves the office, we get a wide sample of the different aspects of mid-century modern residential design.  Above is the work-a-day kitchen in Amanda Farrow’s apartment, and below is the penthouse of rich playboy Dexter Key (played by Robert Evans) who will do terrible things to one of our heroines.

Eventually, Caroline becomes second-in-command at Fabian and gets this spacious new office.  It  does a better job of expressing the character’s reactions to her rapid rise than the actress does, which pretty much sums up the movie.  As often happens, Hollywood sucks the soul out of a book for the sake of selling tickets.  In the case of The Best of Everything, the sets and the costumes are the reason I watch this movie so often, and the reason I get an extra kick out of Mad Men.

RELATED
Mid-Century Fetish: Down With Love

.

Mid-Century Modern For Sale in Old Town Florissant

Rue St. Catherine at Jefferson St.
Old Town Florissant, MO

Old Town Florissant, established in 1786, is a small, charming patch of old-fashioned in North St. Louis County.  Everything is picturesquely quaint and refreshing, and a stroll down the streets makes one instantly crave hand-squeezed lemonade sipped on a porch swing.  So walking upon the sight shown above was pleasantly surprising.

It’s surprising, but not unprecedented to see a quintessential mid-century modern domicile in this neighborhood.  The several blocks that are authentically historic are ringed on all four sides by every hallmark of 1950-1960s suburban-boom architecture, and if not for Historic Florissant, Inc. forming in 1969, the whole area would most likely have been covered in ranch houses.

So how did this thoroughly modern place, built in 1955, wind up in the middle of the Currier & Ives print that is Old Town?

It’s Florissant Valley Fire House No. 1! According to the lieutenant who came out to chat, they move into their brand new firehouse on St. Ferdinand Street  in about two weeks, and this place goes up for sale.  He even said it would convert into a real nice home for someone… someone who’d really, really dig a lot of garage!  That, and 6,155 square feet.

From the street, it’s of an unassuming scale that’s respectful of its surroundings.  From the air, you get a startling idea of how large this 3-building complex really is, which just makes the ease with which it fits into the site even more artful.

The fireman gave a sales price for this building that was shockingly low, and reacted to my surprise with “Don’t quote me.  The realtor knows better.”  But just hearing a price that was in the realm of obtainable sets the imagination spinning… a perfect home/work space for someone who restores vintage cars, or an artist who needs a giant studio?  A highly flexible home/business space?  The possibilities are endless, the location is perfect, and the building is beautiful and in great shape.  Here’s hoping it finds another loving owner, soon.

“The Law Enjoins Us To Become Stewards of Our Architectural History”

Friends of the San Luis Seek Demolition Halt,
Right to Appeal Preservation Board Action

On July 17, the Friends of the San Luis, Inc. filed a petition in Circuit Court to obtain a temporary injunction that would prohibit the Archdiocese of St. Louis from proceeding with any demolition work at the San Luis Apartments until our organization has exhausted its legal appeal of the approval of the demolition permit.  While we do not have a final judgment, Judge Robert Dierker, Jr. has denied our motion for a temporary restraining order.  The Building Division issued a demolition permit on Monday, July 20, and preliminary demolition work is now underway.

Our mission is to preserve the San Luis Apartments, and at this eleventh hour we press onward with that basic mission but also a larger one.  After the Preservation Board granted preliminary approval to the demolition by a narrow vote, we intended to appeal that decision through our right under the city’s preservation ordinance.  We think that the Preservation Board’s action was made through incorrect application of the law.  Furthermore, we think that that the Cultural Resources Office report on the issue misled citizens and Preservation Board members through imprecise legal reasoning that made it unclear what laws were in play.  Since the Preservation Board acts only to enforce city ordinances, without clarity of which laws are being enforced there is no due process.

Under the preservation ordinance, however, we have only the right to appeal an approved demolition permit.  We filed the injunction petition to ensure that we were still fighting for an actual building rather than a rubble pile.  Unfortunately, Judge Dierker is not stopping demolition as well as challenging our legal standing to bring forth an appeal of the Preservation Board decision.  Thus begins our larger cause.

Our preservation ordinance allows an aggrieved party to bring forth an appeal.  The preservation ordinance was passed by the Board of Aldermen for the benefit of the entire city, and its stakeholders are all citizens who share the duty of protecting the city’s heritage.  The law enjoins us to become stewards of our architectural heritage, and the Friends of the San Luis gladly step forward to answer that call.

We contend that citizen right to appeal the decision of the Preservation Board is a fundamental part of due process and essential to the enforcement of the preservation review ordinance.  Without the right to appeal, citizen participation has severely limited impact.  Citizens must have the right to act when they feel that the preservation review ordinance has been violated by its own custodians.  The right to appeal is a basic legal principle, and it must be part of St. Louis’ preservation law.

While we hold out weary hope of preserving the San Luis, we must assert the right of the citizen to bring forth an appeal under preservation law.   We believe that future efforts will benefit from legal protection of that right, and that its fundamental sanctity is worth pursuing no matter what happens to the San Luis.

No Parking Lot On Lindell

UPDATE

The San Luis is coming down.
Read the 5-page court decision here.
See photos of the demolition here.
And here’s the summary of why the court battle will continue.

Julius Shulman: Thank You and Farewell

Julius Shulman, photo by Catherine Ledner for Dwell.

Upon the death of Julius Shulman, there have been several fine remembrances of his work and its impact, and the imminent release of the amazing documentary Visual Acoustics to DVD takes on a heightened significance.  As the media takes notes of his towering artistic contributions, I think about personal gratitude to Julius Shulman for altering the path of my life.

Having always loved buildings, I thought that designing them would be the best way to consummate the relationship, so I headed down the Architectural Planning degree path.  I liked drafting floor plans and designing spaces, but it was during an Architectural History class assignment to photographically illustrate various types of architecture using local buildings that the light bulb went off: I love interpreting the buildings that other people made.

I thought of all the alluring black and white images of mid-century modern architecture that haunted my imagination, and realized those were the true inspirations.  Then I realized that those photographs were all taken by the same man, Julius Shulman! His work was consistently inspiring, so I put the drafting board on ice, pulled the old Minolta X-7A out of storage and changed my major to Photography.

Shortly thereafter, I came across the 2000 re-issue of the 1962 book Photographing Architecture and Interiors by Julius Shulman.  Several knowledgeable and passionate teachers taught me the science of the camera and the art of printmaking, but it was Shulman who taught me about composition, and that the dedication of time can bring clarity of vision.

“All photography is a matter of timing.” – JS

People might assume architectural photography is easy because the subject doesn’t move, but as Julius pointed out, “The subject is moving because the earth is rotating, and we must carefully observe the position of the sun.”  The best shot of a building requires working with Mother Nature, which requires patience, and sitting under a tree waiting for the perfect moment instilled in me a sense of peace, contentment and the supreme luxury of taking the time.  Shulman’s enduring adoration of nature was taught by example, and architectural photography is my form of meditation.

“As a part of our environment the design of buildings is of paramount importance. It affects the lives of all people at all times, physically, psychologically and sociologically.”  - JS

Shulman’s mission was to translate the 3D art of modernist architects into a 2-dimensional format that the layman could understand, admire and desire.  As he wrote in his book, “Although architectural photography can be defined as a physical recording of the image of design, the photographer can develop the ability to transcend the mere physical recording. The photograph can then become instrumental in evoking empathy with the design.  (It) enhances awareness of an already-familiar environment. It prepares for the actual experience of being at or in a building. It substitutes for the experience until it occurs, if it ever does.”   This is the guiding vision and mission of BELT.

“Put your camera down. Don’t act like a photographer; act like a human being…”  - JS

Shulman wanted to convey the personal satisfaction felt by the owners of modern homes he photographed.  At times, he battled for his photos to show the comfort and pleasure of the designs, rather than the stark aestheticism preferred by some of his architect clients.  An architect designs, but we are the ones who live with them every day, and the emotions that a building conjures dictates its legacy, for better or worse.

“A façade or elevation of a building may be shown in any number of ways but it must be clearly understandable to the viewer of the photograph.” – JS

Shulman's map of a photo shoot from his book Photographing Architecture and Interiors.

In one remarkable chapter of his book, Shulman shows the interior and exterior plan of a home in Bel Air, California, annotated with the exact location and direction of his camera for the 33 shots he took of it for the July 1961 issue of House & Garden.  He then shows you all 33 photos and explains why he composed as he did, and the emphasis is always on making the house understandable to the layman.

You get a personal map of the artist visually stalking the project in a vaguely counter-clockwise direction.  Sometimes he shoots the same scene from opposite angles, while other times he shoots the same scene from different distances.  In a couple of cases, he merely moved the camera a few inches to the left of the previous shot, but there’s a vast difference in the message.

Multiple times throughout the book, he shows you his photographs of the same building from the same angle taken with different cameras, lenses, filters and time of day, and he explains the merits of each application and why the shot he ultimately chose was the best representation.  In a couple of cases, he even shows you the photo as it was shot compared to the tricks he employed in the darkroom to make it more dramatic.  He even illustrates how he employed a “portable garden” or a neighbor’s flower bed to add landscape drama to an otherwise-barren new home.

Shulman setting up a shot through his "portable garden."

And the finished print.

Shulman’s complete honesty about how he achieved such successful results does not reduce the final impact, it merely reveals the generosity of his spirit and his unceasing need to educate and inspire others.  A true artist does not need to hide behind illusions of grandeur, because they know that even when giving you the exact recipe, results will vary, and this is the art of beauty and possibility.  I am grateful to Shulman for every personal and photographic adventure he’s led me to, and am comforted in knowing his work will continue to inspire so many others, forever and ever.

“Every man must make his contribution to society. The architectural photographer makes his by helping to improve the environment of his community.”  - JS

Entrance to Shulman's home. Photo by David Laslie.

My friend David Laslie is a gifted architect and landscaper, and he kindly shares with us his  photographs of Julius Shulman’s home and personal memories of the man:

In the Spring of 1995, I was fresh to Los Angeles and a little more than impressionable.  Architect John Lautner had recently died and a tour was organized of some of his iconic homes in the Hollywood Hills.  At the end of the tour, there was the opportunity to meet Lautner’s biographer, Frank Escher, and purchase his book.  Two lines formed in a parking lot, filing toward two folding tables.  I knew the one line was for book purchases; what was the other line for?

I looked over at the other table and immediately recognized why the other line was so much longer than the one in which I stood.  Sitting at the table was a little old man with the biggest grin on his face, signing autographs, posing for pictures, and of course, telling stories.  It was Julius Shulman, and he was having the time of his life.  I was excited to buy the Lautner book and go to the end of the other line so I could get it signed by the great master whose photos told the story of John’s genius (his photos composed about 90% of the illustrations in the book).  By the time I got to the front of the line they had run out of books, so I was forced to settle for a rain check.  I did notice, however, that they were selling little postcards of Shulman images as well, so I bought one of the Malin house, (a.k.a. the “Chemosphere” ) and asked Julius to sign it.  He didn’t care if you bought the book vs. the postcard; I think he would have willingly signed on the back of your hand or your shirt tail, given the chance – anything to talk to one more person and to give a little bit more of himself.

Julius’ generosity is what I will remember most about him.  He would give generously – almost wastefully – of himself, and nothing made him happier than the opportunity to do so. His wife Olga was the same way.  Truly, they were one of the happiest couples I’ve ever known, and together the exuded love and generosity.

The patio of Shulman's home. Photo by David Laslie.

I had the pleasure of witnessing this on several occasions in the Spring of 1998.   While studying architecture at the University of Southern California, I had the opportunity to take an elective course in architectural photography taught by none other than Julius Shulman.  No one knew exactly how the class would work, as USC had never done anything like it before.  As we were participating in something new and different, perhaps even historically significant, I was asked by the dean to drag the school’s video camera to class every time and record each session for posterity.

Every Tuesday, we’d drive up the 101 into the Cahuenga pass and negotiate twisted Woodrow Wilson Drive up to Julius’ house.  I remember not being impressed by the house, designed by architect Raphael Soriano, and didn’t really buy Soriano’s explanation of how the subtleties in proportioning were meant to remind one of a Bach fugue.  When you first approach Julius’ house, it looks like an arrangement of two very plain boxes, but once you cross the threshold, however, you’ve entered Julius’ realm, a place of beauty, comfort, and light.  The studio was cluttered with matted photographs, some small as snapshots, others tall as a person.  There were no clear surfaces; walking into that studio was like walking into his mind.  This man had literally seen it all.

The rest of the home was nothing like the studio; it was immaculate.  Every object was arranged and ordered, but it was not a modern showcase, though.  There were no Barcelona chairs or Eileen Gray end tables.  The furniture was not there to reinforce the lines of the architecture, it was there to use.

Hallway of Shulman's home. Photo by David Laslie.

Julius told us a story about one of the fights he got into with architect Richard Neutra over furniture.  They arrived to photograph a home the architect had just completed, and Neutra was absolutely livid about the furniture the owners brought into the house.  He employed Shulman to help him take all of the owners’ furniture out of the house and replace it with modern designer furniture for the purpose of staging perfect photos.  They spent quite some time setting the scene and arranging things to Neutra’s satisfaction – simple, sparse, and modern.  When Neutra left, Shulman removed all the new furniture from the house and brought all the owners’ furniture back in and arranged it how it had been arranged previously.  Then he got his shots.  Neutra was supposedly quite pleased with the photos and didn’t realize that the furnishings were not those which he had brought in.

Julius taught us that our environments should be livable, and that this should be our primary concern, above clean lines and fugue-like proportions.  His photos exude a richness and fullness of life because that was more important to him than anything.  He said Soriano criticized him for having such a messy studio, and having such pedestrian furniture in his house, and for growing a jungle so thick it obscured the house.  But Julius pointed out that whatever you do, it should support quality of life.  If you are going to plant a garden, make it a jungle.  If you are going to furnish a home, make it comfortable.  If you are going to take a picture, make it alive.

View to the front door of Shulman's home. Photo by David Laslie.

I think this desire for quality of life provided him with the perfect foundation upon which to build a generosity of spirit.  Because he made the effort, he was blessed with richness and fullness in abundance.  He was generous with himself, was rewarded by the fruits of that generosity, and was then able to give generously of himself to the world at large.

We can all learn a lot from this man’s work, but we can learn a lot more from his life.  He used to say that taking a great picture is not about what kind of camera you use, or what kind of film you use, or what kind of filter you use, but is instead about how you see and compose the shot.  Similarly, life is not about the lines, or the proportions, or the furniture.  Life is about how you live it.  And did he ever live it.

We’ll miss you, Julie.

RELATED

Reminder: The Julius Shulman Film
Must See: Birth of the Cool
Happy Birthday, Oscar

Retro Storefront in St. John

Intersection of Brown Road & St. Charles Rock Road
St. John, MO

The McCarty Studios building tells its story with one glance. The building originally went up in 1940, 5 years before St. John was incorporated as a village. The flashy new front facade – by my best guess – went on right around the time streetcars were losing ground to automobiles in the late 1950s.

Along with a house catty corner from it at this intersection, it is the only original building left. The Walgreens sits across the street from McCarty because they tore down the streetcar shed in 1961. The remaining corner has a commercial building that is classic early 1960s Institutional Modern (and now even houses the St. John City Hall).

The McCarty Studios made the architectural leap to be modern during a time when this inner-ring suburb of St. Louis County was booming with activity, they have stood pat ever since and have unwittingly become a retro curio of the recent past.

I love that when they renovated the facade to reflect the new glamor of car culture, they chose to keep their 1948 vintage neon sign. This decision was most likely based on economics: we’re paying a bundle for this remodel – why pay even more money when we have a perfectly good sign?

When working in camera retail several years ago, I used to wait on one of the McCarty sons, and just had to tell him how much I adored their building and sign, and how glad I was that they hadn’t remodeled it into the fake stucco box fast-food look so common in today’s retail upgrades.

He responded that they keep meaning to get a new sign but just haven’t got around to it. I probably spooked the poor man by passionately trying to convince him to not touch anything on that building because its retro distinctiveness was their very best form of 24-hour marketing. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

Here we are 5 years later, and all pieces remains in tact. Here’s hoping they continue to remain so busy that they don’t have time to think about remodeling!

g7kmhixnuj

Bob’s Liquor

I am so happy to have run across this picture I took a couple of years before “Bob” spiffed up his sign.

Oh, he respected the essence of it, so it’s still recognizable, and I’m glad he cared enough to invest some money in keeping the signage intact.  Just glad to have a momento of it in the seedier days.

So, let’s test your liquor store knowledge…. where exactly is Bob’s Liquor?

One Week to Stop a Parking Lot

On Monday, June 22, a demolition permit for the San Luis goes up for review before the St. Louis Preservation Board.  The owners want to demolish the building at Lindell & Taylor in the Central West End for a surface parking lot.

If this doesn’t sit right with you, we need you to speak up.
Here’s your options:

E-mail the Preservation Board now

Attend the June 22nd meeting

E-mail Lyda Krewson, the alderwoman of the ward the San Luis stands in

E-mail the operations officer at the Archdiocese

To assist you in speaking up on this matter, we have a form letter you can use to send to any of the people above. Cut and paste it verbatim, or use it as a starting point to express your own views.

Click for the sample letter

If you want the Preservation Board to deny a demolition permit, it is important to say so.  It is crucial that the Board and the owners of the building understand that this surface parking lot proposal negatively impacts the potential and the spirit of St. Louis City.